


Pictures, or it Didn’t Happen

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Drunken behavior, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Hangover, Natasha Has a Wallet Full of Singles, Possible One-Night Stand, Sam Wilson’s Twerk, This Time Steve Made the Big Breakfast, Tumblr Request Prompt, Work it Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 02:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21468637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: Written by request from queenoftherandomword for the AU prompt, “Also, there is glitter in my bed for reasons I do not recall.”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	Pictures, or it Didn’t Happen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenoftheRandomWord42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheRandomWord42/gifts).

Sam’s mouth tasted like paste. He jerked further awake at the low “bloop” of a text coming in from the vague vicinity of his dresser. He cataloged his body’s complaints slowly while he burrowed more deeply within the rumpled blankets. His bedroom felt too bright, telling him without even looking at the clock that he missed his morning spin class. His groan sounded hoarse and rough, and even that sound made his skull complain. “Shit,” he muttered. _Wow._

Sam rolled toward the dresser and slapped around the top of it until he found his phone and took it with him as he flopped over onto his back, squinting up at the screen. His incoming messages laddered their way down, telling him a story he wasn’t ready to believe about the past ten hours.

_You up yet? Wilson?_

_I threw up. I never wanna see the insides of my stomach again. Or drink tequila._

Clint. That didn’t surprise Sam.

_Nice twerk, though. I didn’t know you had it in you, buddy._

That brought Sam fully awake.

The sensory memory of kicking aside the stack of shot glasses came to him in a rush, along with the crumpled napkins under his feet, and _oh, Lord, I was dancing on the table_ hit him in that instant. Crowded bar. Natasha waving singles at him. He’d swatted her hands away when she tried to shove them down his pants. Sam’s brow furrowed for a moment, and he lifted the covers. 

No singles in his drawers, thank God. Just… something tacky on his skin, making him itch.

“I’m sticky. And _sparkly._” He frowned and peeled the covers aside again. “And _naked_.”

More messages appeared on his screen. 

_I’m never letting Rogers buy you a drink on your birthday again if this is how you end up. He was supposed to be the DD, but I saw the two of you Uber home. You better text me, Wilson. Let me know you two idiots made it home._

Sam’s skin felt clammy and the dry mouth was getting worse the longer he laid in bed. Different things slowly occurred to him as he glanced around the room.

There were too many clothes on his floor. The Silvertab jeans and Under Armour tee definitely weren’t his. Okay. That… okay. 

Despite the hangover, Sam felt… good. Loose. Well-used. Sore in some interesting places with a slight kink in his neck. The other side of the bed was surprisingly rumpled, and Sam had a habit of only occupying the left side.

That. Explained. 

A lot.

Sam froze in the act of sitting up when he heard a low clatter and the sound of the kitchen faucet hissing on beyond his closed bedroom door.

“What the hell?”

_Let me know you two idiots made it home._

Okay. Sam made it home. Rogers…

Okay.

The scent of scrambled eggs drifted to him, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

_Safe and sound_, Sam confirmed.

Clint’s reply bubbled at him. _Thank God. I was worried about you two. I didn’t know Rogers was that much of a lightweight._

Not surprising, Sam mused. Steve was such a health nut and only an occasional drinker. Only one cup of Natasha’s special egg nog at her Christmas party a few months ago gave him the giggles and made him turn red all the way up to his ears. It was cute. 

There were texts from Nat and Bucky, too. 

_Nice moves, Samuel. I thought you were a gentleman. Clearly, I was wrong. I’m so happy to have been proven wrong._

_Your milkshake brought all the boys to the yard, Wilson. One boy in particular._

Sam facepalmed and made a helpless noise.

Then, the photos started showing up in his message feed. Sam throwing back a shot hands-free, with Steve sitting beside him looking impressed. More shots.

More pictures. Sam had his sleeves rolled up and the bar looked more crowded. They’d played darts. And pool. 

....aaaaannnd there he was on the table. Bent over, ass up, laughing like a fool. And there was Rogers, down in front, clearly enjoying the show, and-

He’d never seen him look like that. Who knew Rogers could smirk like that? There was a twinkle in his eye, and he was biting the edge of his lip, that full, soft-looking lower lip… 

“Okay,” Sam reasoned. “We had a little bit to drink, it happens…”

More pictures started to flash onscreen.

_I like this one best,_ Bucky assured him. Sam read glee between the lines as he stared - gaped - at the shot of Sam straddling Steve’s lap. The next one showed Steve’s hand had wandered onto Sam’s _ass_.

There was no way to reasonably explain this. 

“And why am I so damned sticky?” Sam said aloud.

_You couldn’t have put the camera down?_ Sam texted back.

_Where’s the fun in that?_ Sam heard Natasha’s lack of regret in the brief message, and he groaned again. 

_Hope you guys did the right thing and used protection._ That was Bucky.

_You don’t even know we did anything!_ Sam shot back. _For all you know, we just played cards and fell asleep on the couch._

Natasha sent him another photo.

There was Sam, still on Steve’s lap, with his tongue down his throat, and Steve’s fingers tangled in the back of Sam’s shirt. Sam’s eyes bulged.

Sam texted back, _I plead the Fifth._

The used condoms and empty wrappers winked up at Sam from the wastebasket. 

Then, because Sam wasn’t in the mood to come up with a rational explanation, he added _Also, my bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall._

Sam remembered his gag gift from Bucky. Edible lube with edible glitter. Because _of course_.

Those were heavy footsteps coming up Sam’s stairs. He wondered how the two of them even managed their way up to the second story of his townhouse in their drunken state, much less… well. But Sam put his phone down at the low, polite knock on his bedroom door.

“Yo. C’mon in. As long as you’re not an ax murderer.”

He felt relief wash over him at the sound of Steve’s low chuckle before the door swished open. Steve stood in the doorway, in only his boxers, blond hair rumpled, balancing a plate and two cups of coffee. He handed Sam one of the latter, and Sam drank in the sight of him, feeling a slow smirk stretch across his face.

“Not an ax murderer.”

“My record’s pretty clean. Might have an unpaid parking ticket or two.”

“Nah. Not you, Mr. Boy Scout.”

“I didn’t know how you liked your eggs.”

“Overeasy with a side of random one-night stand?” Sam suggested. “I’m not finicky.”

Steve’s brow quirked. “One night?”

“Depends on his coffee,” Sam teased before he took a sip. It was strong enough to strip paint from a barn. “Mmmm. Mmm-hmm. Mm-hm.”

Steve huffed and set the plate down on the dresser. He sat on the edge of the bed, hip bumped against Sam’s knee where it rested under the covers. Sam drank in the sight of him, all graceful muscle and smooth, flushed skin. There was a purpling hickey on his throat and another on his chest. Traces of glitter flecked Steve’s abdomen and trailed down below his waistband, and Sam bit his lip.

Sam set aside his phone, peeled down the covers, and patted the other side of the mattress. “Get back in here and help me eat some of this.”


End file.
